


Jumping Down

by CommonEvilMastermind



Series: The Chronicles of the Elf and the Egg [4]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Falling In Love, Inquisition Hijinks, Mage Nerd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-12
Updated: 2015-11-12
Packaged: 2018-05-01 05:55:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5194667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CommonEvilMastermind/pseuds/CommonEvilMastermind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ellara discovers how not to take fall damage at Skyhold and nearly gives Solas a heart attack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Jumping Down

**Author's Note:**

> Playing with the Inquisitor's interaction with the NPCs of Haven, mage nerdery, and that awkward space in Solavellan between the fade kiss and the balcony scene.
> 
> WARNING: someone thinks the Inquisitor is committing suicide. She isn't.  
> I don't know if that's a thing you want to be warned about, but better safe than sorry.
> 
> Elvish via the great Project Elvhen. All mistakes are my own.

Ellara loved to walk the halls of Skyhold at night, when the castle was asleep. There were few who disturbed her – an occasional scout, a baker rising early, the guards at their watch on the walls. But for the most part the castle was hers.

She padded softly through its hallways, murmuring greetings to the old, old stone beneath the foundations. Skyhold had might, had weight – it pressed down on her with the pressure of centuries, each occupant another bright layer through the rock.

Ellara thought Skyhold like a giant stone tree, reaching up into the very tip of the sky. It’s history lay within, each occupant another ring underneath the current footsteps.

Sometimes as she wandered the empty halls, she could imagine she heard them singing. Old songs, worn to threads of vowels and hanging in the drafty air. Maybe they were human. Maybe they were elven. She liked to imagine that they were the songs built into the very foundations of the place – old melodies and dreams from that very first footfall on her mountain.

And it was her mountain.

Skyhold was cautious at first. She felt it in the way the doors creaked under her hands and the stone felt under her feet. Skyhold had seen so many come and go – what kind would she prove to be?

So she tried to be a good occupant. She cleared the rubble and started anew, with the best craftspeople and materials the Inquisition could afford. At first, that was not very much. That changed quickly.

Her people felt it too. No one knew how long they would dwell here, on this place on top of the world, but they built as if what they were doing would last. Not a one of Skyhold’s residents had been spared the chaotic upheaval of the past few weeks. Most of them knew how their homes smelt, burning. How it felt to lose what you held dear – buildings or land or people, all wiped out by Corypheus, the Conclave, the Blight.

They built the stones high as if to make one thing that would last. Some place where their children could play, free from fear.

Skyhold warmed to her, to all of them. They suited each other – a woman, set adrift, put down roots in the sky. A castle, long abandoned, found a people to hold. Soldiers and farmers, workers and craftspeople, servants and cooks found a home, a leader, and strong walls.

They clung to each other tightly, as if nothing so precious could ever be let go.

Ellara, like all the Dalish, knew everything must change. She never wanted to let go.

And now, few months after they had made their cold and hungry way through the gate, Skyhold held her in return. When she wished silence, doors did not creak. Her food was never chilled by drafts, her linens nibbled by mice. No stairs moved to stub her toes. When she tripped, the walls caught her and the floor was strangely soft.

Tonight, Ellara had an idea.

The Veil was different here. It hummed gently through her skin, a little song that served to soothe and comfort. When sleep escaped her, she would play with it, tracing her fingers through the air that glowed, thick and golden as honey. She made it dance, playing with the currents, feeling its drag through her fingertips.

It was Sera, of all people, who had given her the idea.

The two were engaged in a prank war, wherein Sera would do something to Ellara, who would pretend to be inscrutable and unfazed. Ellara would then get retribution but vehemently deny it when Sera came spitting, all frenzy and claws and poorly-hidden laughter.

This particular instance, Ellara had been walking up the steps to the kitchen, nose buried in reports, when there was a horrendous noise like a dying gurgut. Ellara started, tried to draw her staff, tripped over it in the process, and fell.

The stairs to the kitchen were long and hard and she was almost at the top. Scrabbling for purchase, Ellara twisted as she fell, hands digging into the raw Veil and she _pulled._

And she _slowed._

She was so shocked she let go and tumbled down the few remaining steps to land in the mud. Much of the force of her fall had been absorbed by _whatever_ that was, so she was more stunned than bruised.

On top of the steps, Sera whooped and whistled, cackling madly to herself. Ellara wiped the mud from her face – oh dear, that only made it worse – and hollered at her good-naturedly. “Imp! Rascal! Demon! If Corypheus wins because you killed me on my _own damn steps_ I hope you rot. _Nuva vher av ma, i banalhan av vher!”_

“What’s that? I can’t hear you ‘cause you’re full of mud!” Sera laughed so hard she collapsed into a heap at the top of the stairs, cackling madly.

“May the blight eat you, and then the blight eat the cat!” Ellara repeated, grinning. She tried to get out of the mud, slipped, and fell again. A good-natured hostler – Barlin, that was his name – came over to help leverage her up. He was grinning ear to ear.

“There ya go, miss,” he said. “I think ya got a bit ‘a somethin’, just there.” He pointed at her nose, which was all but hidden under the mud. She flicked a bit of the muck at him.

“It’s astonishing, the kind of people we’re letting in here these days,” she said, digging her muddy handkerchief from her muddier pocket. “Miscreants and troublemakers, the lot of them.”

“I dun know what could be bringin’ em,” Barlin agreed solemnly. “Not with the Herald being all dignified and proper and all.”

“Of course.” The application of her handkerchief only made things worse. “May I trouble you for use of your water barrel, my good ser?”

“Naw, the horses drink from that ‘un,” he grinned. “I’ll dump a bucket over yer head for ya.”

“You better,” Ellara agreed. “Or Hannah will have my hide.”

Barlin laughed, a great ringing guffaw. “That she will, that ‘un.”

Hannah was one of Ellara’s personal servants. She was a tiny thing with black hair and dark eyes, a woman you would overlook until she felt something amiss. Then she revealed herself to be a wolverine in human guise. She cared for Ellara fiercely, to the Inquisitor’s amusement and occasional dismay.

“And how goes your courtship of my fiercest defender?” Ellara asked as they walked to the stables. “Has Hannah bitten off one of your fingers yet?” There was a going bet at the Herald’s Rest for how long it would be until Hannah grew weary of Barlin’s wooing and turned him into stew. Ellara had been one of the few to put gold down on “never.”

Barlin grinned at her through his thick beard. “She’s a fighter, that ‘un.”

“That’s one way to put it.” Ellara sputtered as Barlin dumped the promised bucket of water over her head. Blight, that was _cold._ Her handkerchief, once rinsed, proved much more effective at cleaning away the muck. “My thanks, good ser.”

“Gods go with ‘ya,” Barlin told her as she began to walk back to the castle.

“Yes,” Ellara said sadly until she realized it was a blessing, not an observation. A careful application of fire magic had her dry again by the time she climbed the hill.

Back near the kitchen steps, a frenzied band of small figures were scrambling after the pieces of paper that she had dropped, some still fluttering in the wind. She cheered on their valiant attempts and the report was soon back in her hands, albeit a bit mud splattered. Thanking her helpers with a few copper pieces, she found a safer, less muddy way back into Skyhold.

Something nagged at her footsteps. That _pulling_ sensation she had felt as she fell, how she could dig her fingers in to the Veil. This might be worth additional experimentation. A quick glance at the sun made her think that the time she had put aside for reading was nearly spent – better to use the last few minutes before the war room meeting to examine this new phenomenon.

Experimentation in her quarters proved intriguing. She stood on her banister and jumped down into the stairwell, increasing the height as she grew more confident. She could now slow herself down _on purpose._ For the last trial, she stood on the balcony overlooking her room and leapt down into the massive embrace of her bed. She caught the Veil and _pulled_ , letting herself down gently.

How excellent.

So now, in the deep reaches of the night, Ellara made her way to Solas’ rotunda. An idea had been plaguing her since she jumped from her balcony, and tonight was the night she would put it to motion. She slipped through the rotunda, crept up the library stairs, and walked up to the rookery. No spies were up so late tonight – it was just her and the muttering of the sleeping ravens.

Ellara peered down at Solas’ desk, two floors below. She climbed up on to the banister, grabbed on to the Veil and, before she could think better of the idea, jumped.

It was _fantastic._

She fell slightly more quickly than she had meant to, picking up speed as she plummeted, and crashed on top of Solas’ desk without injury. She lay there for a breathless moment, softly giggling to herself, before the entirety of her world was filled with two furious blue eyes.

“Have you completely lost use of your senses?” Solas snapped, and his hands were rough on her shirt, dragging her upright. “You cannot seek to end yourself, not when so much depends on you! Not with victory so near! If you need help, you need only but ask it, not attempt some senseless, foolish, imbecilic-“

He kissed her so roughly that she yelped in surprise, his lips covering hers, teeth worrying at her mouth. She started to protest and he plunged his tongue inside her as if he would devour her whole.

His hands fisted the front of her tunic as if he was unsure if he should hold her or shake her. He kissed her so fiercely that the bottom fell out of her world.

Ellara pushed him back with a shove and he stumbled backwards, lips swollen and pupils blown. “Solas! _Ha’mi’in!”_ she cried as he _stalked_ – there was no other word – stalked towards her again. “Calm down!”

He paused, but close enough that she could feel the tension radiating from him. “And why would I have a mind to do that?”

“I’m not – by the Blight, Solas, I’m not trying to commit suicide!” she yelled.

The rigidity left his shoulders somewhat – not much. “Then what led you to leap from the rookery in the middle of the night?”

“I was testing a new technique I learned, to slow falling.” She glared at him, noting that when she knelt on his desk they were nearly of a height. “Or did you not notice how I pulled at the Veil as I fell?”

There was a long silence as the pressure drained out of the room. Solas put a hand to his face, suddenly looking very old. “You leapt from the rookery… as an experiment?”

Ellara nodded, then realized he couldn’t see. “I accelerated faster than I originally intended, but I think the technique is sound. If I could figure out how to apply it to places outside of Skyhold, we could just jump down cliffs without harm! Imagine the possibilities!” Solas’ face was still buried in his hands. His shoulders began to shake. “Solas?”

She gently pulled his hand away from his eyes only to realize he was laughing – laughing! Laughing so hard he couldn’t catch his breath. The rich sound rolled around the room, making the ravens squawk in indignation. Solas sank to the floor until he sat with his back against the table, shaking with mirth. Ellara slipped from the papers to join him on the plush wool rug.

He wrapped his arms around her and pressed a kiss into the top of her hair. “Don’t _ever_ do that again.”

“Of course I have to, think of the practical applications!” she said in indignation. “And I had a healing potion in my pocket.”

“Had?” he asked.

“It broke when I landed on it,” she admitted ruefully. This set him off in another round of laughter. It was worth the admission, just to hear him laugh like that.

“If you are not to be swayed,” he said after he had calmed, “at least let me serve as your assistant, to catch you in the event that something goes amiss.”

“Or my healing potion breaks,” she reminded him.

“Or that,” he agreed. His arms tightened around her. “You will be my undoing, da’len.”

“I should likely be more respectful of my elders,” she admitted, curling into him. “I would not want your heart to give out from the shock.”

“It is my own fault,” he sighed. “To follow such a woman. _Avys esaya gera assan i’ara’av’ingala_ , Ellara.”

She flipped the words through her mind, translating. “I would try to catch a something with my… what?”

“Teeth,” he sighed. “You would try to catch an arrow with your teeth.”

“I resent that,” she protested. “I only do crazy, fool-hearted stunts when there a purpose! I don’t do things just to be stupid. That’s Sera’s job.”

“Of course,” Solas said. “Forgive me.”

Ellara looked at him archly through the corner of her eye. “Perhaps. For a kiss.”

“High price,” he muttered against her ear and she turned to press her lips against his own.

They sat together quietly in the dark. It was quite a long time before he would let her go.


End file.
